


The Tattoo Artist and the Billionaire

by Stonyinspirationwriter



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angry Steve Rogers, Artist Steve Rogers, Billionaire Tony Stark, Drunk Tony Stark, Drunken Confessions, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Loss, M/M, Major Character Death Mentioned, Soldier Bucky, Steve Has Issues, Stony - Freeform, Superhusbands (Marvel), Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers, Tattoos, Tony Has Issues, Young Steve, Young Tony Stark, Younger Steve, Younger Tony, blame, drunk tattoo, fallen soldier, loss of a soldier, mention of violence, mention of war, post 9/11, post afganistan, tattoo artist - Freeform, tour as a soldier, war torn areas, war tours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:17:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stonyinspirationwriter/pseuds/Stonyinspirationwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is an amazing tattoo artist with his own tattoo shop. Then one night the young, newly appointed heir to his father's billion dollar company, decides to get a tattoo while intoxicated. Steve has no trouble telling the young man what he thinks of not only him, but also his father's company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tattoo Artist and the Billionaire

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a headcanon that someine had askwd ne to wrire, but I couldnt pass up the opportunity to turn this into a prompt instead. Since the tattoo shop story has been done before, I put my own spin on it. I’m a bit embarrassed that writing this took so long, but I put a lot of thought into it. 
> 
> WARNING: Non-explicit mention of serving as a soldier in Afganistan, as well as a recollection of a former soldier killed in battle. Although briefly mentioned and not a centeral part of the story, I figured it was best to be safe.

The last customer of the night waltzes in like he’s royalty, completewith his own posse. He’s wearing a flaming red dressshirt—silk?—-thesleeves are rolled up, and he’s wearing red-lens-sunglasses despite the fact that it’s dark outside. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t fallen and broken anything yet. Brooklyn is obviously a long ways off from his part of town.

“I’m here for a tattoo”, he exclaims.

“You’re in the right place, then”, Steve responds.

All his gestures are grand, every little movement demanding attention. He’s talking loudly, obviously used to being the center of attention. He makes a spectacle of himself for the entertainment of his friends, who are obviously as intoxicated as he is.

Steve internally rolls his eyes. He knows the type: a bunch of flashy, rich snobs that talk up a good game, but never do anything that actually requires more effort than a flash of bills. From the looks of this bunch, they’ll spend a few minutes browsing around before making up some excuse to back out.

“Want me to take care of them?” Natasha says, shooting a pointed glance toward the customers.

“Nah, go ahead”,Steve assures her. “This shouldn’t take long. They’ll probably leave once they take a look at the needle.”

“They may all want one, though. You’ll probably need my help.”

“Nope. It’s definitely just gonna be the guy in the sunglasses.” If having his own tattoo shop had taught him anything, it was how to read people.

Natasha gives him one of her little amused smiles.“Alright then, see you tomorrow, Boss.” Natasha plants a quick kiss on his cheek. She shrugs on her jacket, hiding away the bow and arrow tattoo on her arm; the first piece so far to her sleeve that she had entrusted him to work on. “A tribute to a friend”, was all she had said when Steve had inquired about its significance.

The Leader, as Steve has already dubbed him, removes his sunglasses, eyes practically sliding off his face as they follow Natasha. He gives her a sly smile and says something Steve doesn’t catch. Natasha says something over her shoulder, shooting him one of her fiery warning glares. For a moment, a bewildered expression crosses his face, but then it melts away and gives way to a mischievous grin. He makes a move to pursue her but a friend grabs him by the arm to stop him. Guy’s lucky his friend stopped him, because knowing Natasha, whatever she said was probably a warning that she would have no problem following through with.

Now Steve’s the last one in the shop.

They draw their attention to the numerous tattoo designs that fill up the walls. The Leader and his friends make a comment about every tattoo. Laughing and joking, and trying to persuade each other to pick a particular tattoo.

After a while The Leader calls Steve over. “I want that one!” He proudly announces to the awe of his posse, pointing to an image on the top of the second wall. “Right here.” He points to his right peck on his chest. It’s a colored design of a flame. How typical.

Steve nods, still hoping the needle will scare him away. They don’t spent very long on price. He scoffs and tells Steve that money is no factor. His friends laugh.

The Leader then removes his sunglasses, exposing brown eyes and a much younger looking face behind the goatee. He’s young. Probably ten years or so Steve’s junior. He makes his way to the chair and begins unbuttoning his shirt. He reveals his chest; he’s thin, but toned. Steve begrudgingly admits to himself that the guy is physically attractive, despite his unattractive personality. Steve also notes that he has no prier tattoo’s.

“First timer”, Steve remarks. “It’s going to feel very unpleasant.”

“Stark men feel no pain!” The guy laughs. “We’re born with Iron in our backbones, do your worst, handsome.” He winks at Steve.

Steve goes to work, surprised and greatly annoyed at the guys ability to withstand pain. He easily holds a conversation with his friends, only gritting his teeth here and there.

“What does it mean?” One of the girls ask.

“It means I have an eternal flame of passion burning inside of me.” Stark places an accent on passion, giving her a wink.

It doesn’t take long for the pact to grow bored and restless. Steve is about to reprimand them when The Leader, or Stark, tells them to go ahead to the next party without him. It doesn’t take them any convincing. As soon as they leave silence is once again restored. Stark stays silent, his face solemn as he stares ahead at nothing in particular. There’s no sound but the quiet buzz of the tattoo machine.

“It’s my birthday”, he finally says.

“What?” Steve pauses for a moment.

“It’s my birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy Birthday.”

“Yay, happy birthday to me. “ He smiles humorlessly. “Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two and one of the richest men in the world; Gates and I are still going toe to toe for the title. Can you imagine that?”

The noise of the tattoo machine comes to an abrupt halt as it all clicks into place. The words Stark Industries flash through his mind. Steve freezes for a moment before glancing up at the young man. Stark. Tony Stark. Howard Starks son. The infamous, genius, billionaire, womanizing, spoiled brat. Always on the news with a new scandal since his daddy died last year and left him the head of his billion dollar company. The kid that had inherited Howard Stark’s blood money. Stark. The name made his skin crawl.

“No, I actually can’t. It must be nice to have everything”, Steve says, clenching his jaw. “No bills to worry over, no one to answer to. “A spoiled brat living off the rest of us while you sit on your throne fat and happy.”

He knows he should have kept his mouth shut, but the image of his mothers worn smile and tried eyes flashes through his mind, followed by the image of his best friend Bucky’s lifeless eyes. His selfless mother spent her whole life struggling to put food on the table and paying for for his medical bills, while this ungrateful-born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-his-mouth-kid throws his money around. He gets to live the rest of his pitiful life never knowing the sacrifices men like Bucky are forced to make.

The smug look is wiped off of Stark’s face and his expression is now unreadable as he silently processes what Steve had just said. Steve resumes his work, pushing the awkward silence away from his mind. “You think I’m fat?” Stark suddenly asks. Steve stops the machine to shoot him an incredulous look. Stark giggles, covering his mouth with his hand. “You have me all figured out, don’t you, tattoo man?” Tony asks through his laughter.

“As a matter of fact I do”, Steve challenges. “I’ve read about you, seen the videos. Your father died and left you—kid that doesn’t know his ass from his elbow—to run a multimillion-dollar company.” This only causes Stark to laugh harder. “Will ya hold still!”

“Let me do you now!” Stark says excitedly. Then he catches himself. “Not do you do you—not that you aren’t do-able, but it looks like there’s already someone’s stick up your ass! Oh look, there’s one! You have a stick up your ass.”

“Am I goin to have to—”

“Low income family with parents that worked hard so his baby boy could make something of himself—”

“—-kick your ass out.”

“An army man. A real patriot—even if it does contradict the liberal thing.” Stark is eyeing the colored tattoo of the American flag on Steve’s shoulder. The words “U.S. Army” are written above it. “Came home, realized you were good at nothing else, so decided to open up a tattoo shop. And you must have had really awful bad teeth growing up for the kids to call you Bucky”, he continued , referring to the tribute of Bucky and his other arm. Then he eyes his mother’s name written under Bucky’s. “And you are either a mama’s boy or really—”

“Do you ever shut up!” Steve snapped. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“And you know about me?” Stark asked, highly amused.

“I know what kind of man your father was, and you’re no different.”

Stark stiffens. All trace of amusement is eradicated as his eyes darken. I’m nothing like my father”, he growls.

For a moment Steve is taken aback by the violent reaction to his statement, but then he is reminded of the anger building up within himself. “Sure you are”, Steve said menacingly. “American soldiers are being killed by the very weapons Stark Industries built to protect them. You have blood on your hands too, Stark.”

Whatever Stark was about to say is lost. His mouth slightly opens, and then closes. He swallows.

“This was not something I saw on TV like everyone else”, Steve continued.” I lived it.” He takes a breath before he says his name. “His name was James Buchanan Barns. A great soldier and an even better man. The greatest man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Killed in action by a Stark missile. He’s just one example of the countless good men that were killed by your father’s weapons.

“And what have you done differently, Stark? What have you done that’s unselfishly good? What makes you less of a murderer? Your indifference to your fellow man makes you just as guilty.” Steve could feel his eyes watering, and the heat filling his cheeks.

His throat fells like he has a knot in it. Some of that pent up rage for Stark Industries he had been harboring all these years finally released. He took a few shallow breaths and waited for composure to once again take the reins.

“Nothing.” Stark says after a long pause, his voice a breathy whisper. Steve looks up at him. Without his bravado Stark is a child with chestnut-brown eyes, and red trembling lips. There is sorrow in his eyes. Not fake sorrow, but seemingly of sincerity. “Nothing.” Stark repeats louder. “I’m sorry.” His voice trembles. “I’m so sorry.” 

For the first time since Stark had stepped into his shop, Steve is able to see the child Stark still is, and Steve can’t help but feel empathic for him. Stark slouches forward on the chair and places his elbows on his knees; he covers his face with his hands. Steve exhales, running his fingers nervously through his blonde hair. “Fuck”, he murmurs to himself.

“I shouldn’t have..” Steve continues, searching for the words. “I’m tired, and I lost my temper. Take your money back—I’ll continue for free. Or I can—-”

“I don’t want to be him”, Tony says, wiping his eyes. “I rather be dead than be like him. But I am. But at the same time I can’t compare to him. How fucked up is that?”

“I shouldn’t have—-”

“Howard knew I wasn’t good enough. I was too sensitive. Not strong. ‘Why ya crying?’ He said in a gruff voice, mimicking Howard Stark. ‘Stark men don’t cry. Stark men are made of iron.’ He shook his head and chuckled. “Why am I telling you all this? Shit, I guess I’m drunker than I thought.”

Steve figured that it was best to just stay quiet, but then again, Steve was never good at doing what was best for him. “My father wasn’t the greatest guy either”, Steve offered. “I mean he was, but then Vietnam happened; screwed him up. He started drinking. Died when I was just a kid.”

Why was he telling him about his fathers alcoholism? The only person he had ever told was Bucky, and Stark was no Bucky. Not even close. But thenwhy did Steve just tell him?

Tony smirked. “Our father’s had that in common. Howard was a mean bastard when he was drunk. Sober, he was just an asshole. Jarvis said that he was a good man that had lost his way. Whatever that means.”

Steve nodded. His mother had said practically the same thing.”Never would he imagine that he could have something in common with a Stark. Steve knew what it was to live with an alcoholic, but he had only been eight when his father died. This kid had grown up with it.

“Oh, fuck, I sound like a little bitch”, Tony snorted.

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “You were a little bitch the moment you stepped through my door. Right now, you seem like an actual person.”

Stark laughed.“Fuck! He found out my secret!” He joked. Now I’m going to have to kill ya, Cap.”

“Not if I kill ya first, Stark.”

“Tony.” Stark corrected.

“Steve.”

In that moment of silence—looking straight into the depths of those jaded, young brown eyes, and the little smile at the corner of his mouth—Steve was no longer staring at a Stark. That persona had been ripped away, and now there was only Tony.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

It was around noon when Tony finally awoke. Having been drinking and hardcore partying for years now, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that he was practically immune to hangovers. Sure, his head hurt a bit, and it felt like he had barely emerged from being underwater, but they were significantly minor side effects, especially for his level of drinking. The pain on his chest is new, though; it felt like he had been hit, or stabbed. What the fuck did he do last night?

He shuffled to the bathroom mirror, unsure of what he was going to see. With a sigh he removed the shirt he had fallen asleep in. He gasped. In an instant the memories of last night came flooding back. The tattoo artist. Steve. They had spent most of the night talking. Tony would probably shutter in embarrassment later at what had been said. Tony could hold his liquor. He had never been a sad drunk—an emotional drunk. Especially never spill all your secrets drunk. Affectionate, maybe, but he had known better than to let his guard down.

Steve had somehow cracked the wall Tony had built to protect himself. Steve had seen through the mask Tony wore to hide himself behind. It was nearly impossible for Tony to let people truly in. The only one that truly knew him was his best friend, Rhodey. Everyone else would only ever see what he wanted them to. Steve had seemed to have this power over him that made him want to spill his guts. Maybe it was those hypnotic. trusting blue eyes.

Steve could eventually use the information from last night aganst him and go to the media. For now, though, Tony wouldn’t care. Personal gain could have been Steve’s ulterior motive, but whatever the reason, Steve had listened. He had truly listened. And the proof was literally right there in front of him.

Fire can also be considered a metaphorical form of cleansing ones self, Steve had explained. That out of the ashes someone completely different could emerge. You can find your own way, Tony. Stop trying to be Howard. You have the potential to be so much better than that.

Rising from his sternum and expanding across his chest, Steve had tattooed the red, and orange flames, he had originally asked for. But right in the center of those flames, Steve had tattooed in bold letters the words: Iron Man.

Tony smiled.


End file.
